


A New Family Tradition

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apothecary Owner Draco, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas songs, Draco reads Jane Austen, Draco wraps up in a quilt, Draco's childhood Christmases, Harry's canon bad treatment by the Dursleys, Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020, Head Auror Harry Potter, M/M, Married Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Mpreg, OC House Elf - Freeform, Plans For The Future, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Reminiscing, Sentimental Harry, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, baby bump, making new traditions, sweet and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Draco is pregnant and exhausted after a busy day at the Apothecary while Harry is excited and and full of Christmas cheer.This is a small fic where they talk about their new baby, the Christmases of their childhoods and discover a new family tradition of their own.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 159
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	A New Family Tradition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smirkingcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smirkingcat/gifts).



> This is for the very lovely smirkingcat. I hope that you and your loved ones have a very lovely Christmas and a safe and prosperous new year.

Draco stretched out his legs on the settee, yawned into the back of his hand and let the tranquil silence of his and Harry’s Islington home settle around him. 

The wizard wanted nothing more than his cup of tea, his copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ and the scruffy old patchwork quilt that was never far from their overstuffed settee. Everything around him was festive; Harry loved Christmas with every part of his soul and always insisted on their buying the biggest tree that they could find. 

Every part of their walls were covered in Christmas cards and strings of charmed fairy lights that criss-crossed each wall. Draco had to quirk back a small smile as cast his eyes around and took it all in. Everything was so removed from the refined, prim Christmases of his childhood in the Manor that it might have been an entirely different celebration. Harry always went overboard with the decorations but Draco couldn’t deny his husband anything that made him happy. 

The Apothecary had been bustling and loud since the moment that he’d broken the Locking Charm that morning. Draco hadn’t had even a moment to sit down and rest his feet. He supposed that he shouldn’t complain – every visitor through their doors meant extra Galleons in the tills – but Draco couldn’t help but feel exhausted. 

It was always the same this final week before Christmas: witches and wizards that had come to Diagon to collect a final Christmas gift would always decide that they simply _must_ have an extra jar of Pain Salve or an extra bottle of Dittany to get them through the holidays. 

Draco yawned once again. He was currently fourteen, nearly fifteen, weeks pregnant and, whilst most of first-trimester sickness had finally – thankfully! – vanished, his weariness still remained. The festive season didn’t give two hoots whether Draco’s feet were aching or if his head pounded.

Thank Merlin and all the deities that he was _finally_ home, finally changed into a soft pair of pyjama bottoms and into Harry’s old Harpies tee-shirt. He could finally take a moment to just breathe. 

Only two more blessed days and then Harry would spirit him away to the chaos and pandemonium of a Weasley Christmas day, where Molly would feed the pair of them until they could scarcely move. There’d be party games to play, pin-the-tail on the Hippogriff and a million children running in every direction but Draco didn’t care about any of that. He could take the bedlam in his stride. There was a comfort, a warm-heartedness, that radiated from The Burrow and it’s inhabitants that he’d never known before. It was the personification of Christmas cheer. 

Until then, though? Draco had to snatch his small moments of relief where he could find them. 

Tucking his favourite quilt around his lap, Draco _Accio’ed_ his latest book from the shelf and opened it to where his owl bookmark stuck out of the top. It was fascinating stuff, learning about the mores and manners of Muggle Regency England and Draco was soon lost in Austen’s perfect phrases. 

As Draco read, he sipped the sweet Earl Grey that he’d been craving since the very moment that he had Flooed to the Apothecary early that morning. The soft warmth of it seemed to settle in his belly, coiling through his tired limbs in little tendrils of heat. He shuffled his legs even further under his quilt and let out a small sigh, finally able to relax. The muted colours of the fairy lights danced over the pages of his book, their effect soporific and very beautiful. 

It had been a lovely, thoughtful gift, their quilt, given to them by Pansy on the occasion of their wedding. Draco didn’t think a winter’s day had passed by without either he or Harry wrapping themselves within it. Each square was meaningful to the pair of them. There was the burgundy of Harry’s school robes and the dark green of his own. There was material from the lab-coat that he had worn when he had taken his Potioneer Master’s examination and even a few squares of scarlet from the first set of Auror robes that Harry had ever worn. 

The two of them had cuddled beneath it during long snowy evenings and they’d made love atop of it. There was even a distinct possibility that their baby had been conceived upon it. Harry – awful git that he was! – liked to tease Draco about his quilt, calling it his ‘security blanket’ but Draco didn’t give a Sickle about Harry’s words. He’d had a long, arduous day – he was sore, swollen and achy – and he coveted his quilt. 

Draco was nearly asleep when he was roused by the sight of Harry walking into the Lounge. 

Dressed down, Harry was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a Weasley jumper that had gone baggy and soft with age. His hair was dishevelled, the ends of it still damp and curling from his post-work shower. He’d brought a plate of Cauldron Cakes with him, levitating them before him in a gentle sparkle of magic. Draco didn’t say a word and simply watched as it landed lightly on the coffee table with only the tiniest of clicks. 

“I brought you your favourite,” Harry said in explanation, nodding over at the treats. “I thought you deserved a little pick-me-up. Ron said that Wheezes is busier than he’s ever seen it and that the Apothecary wasn’t far behind in terms of the crowds.”

Draco yawned once more. For all that he was enjoying his novel, the words were beginning to swim on the page. Their little one was stealing all of his energy and most of his magic. He reached over and picked up one of the treats, making an unconscious moan of pleasure as he bit into the rich chocolate. Draco let himself really enjoy his cake before he replied. 

“Busier than I’ve ever seen it,” he agreed, licking a miniscule crumb of chocolate off his finger before continuing. “Every wix in England is determined that their loved ones will fall foul of some dreadful malady over the holidays.” Draco gave Harry a pleased half-grin. “Still, it’ll please the Gringott’s Goblins. They’ll be seeing their loans paid off sooner rather than later. Some of those interest payments were astronomic… _Oh_...”

Draco found himself drawing to a sudden stop. He’d been so busy talking about the financial ramifications of their pre-Christmas boom that he’d failed to notice that his husband hadn’t moved an inch. 

He was still standing in exactly the same spot, looking down at Draco with wide, shining eyes filled with an unmistakable adoration.

“What is it?” Draco asked. He could hear the surprise and confusion in his voice. Harry was a Deputy Lead Auror who worked a stream of difficult cases during his working day. He was usually more likely than Draco to be fast asleep on their settee, the rigour and challenge of his days a long-term constant in their marriage. “Wait, Harry, what in Merlin’s _garden_ are you playing at?”

Draco didn’t get even the slightest hint of a warning. Harry fell to his knees in front of Draco and lightly lay his hands on Draco’s quilt-clad thighs. Then he looked up, his green eyes meeting Draco’s grey ones and never leaving them. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said after gazing upwards for a moment. “It’s just- well. Just seeing you there, all wrapped up in our quilt. You’re keeping our baby all safe and comfy while they get bigger. I suppose I felt overwhelmed. The sight of you. It felt like magic.”

Harry shuffled closer, his hands snaking all the way up to Draco’s hips before he propped himself up on his elbows. Then, before Draco could scoff at his husband’s runaway sentimentality, he felt Harry’s careful hands cautiously ruckle up the material of his tee-shirt, moving the worn cotton so that it revealed the little swell of Draco’s new bump. 

Draco felt his face flush. He hadn’t expected Harry’s hands there and he felt a little exposed – a little on display – and he sighed. He’d always been as tall and thin as a broomstick so every new curve felt like a lot to him. He didn’t love how his body was changing and how out of control it made him feel. His tummy had seemed to arrive from nowhere; one moment he’d been as slender as ever and then all of a sudden his and Harry’s baby had been there, rounding out the skin beneath his navel. 

Harry didn’t feel the same though. 

His husband had made it abundantly clear that he thought Draco’s middle was the most wondrous thing that he’d seen in their lives. Each night Harry’s hands would drift there as the two of them lay in bed, his every caress a veneration. Each morning Harry would wash it with gliding soapy fingers while the two of them showered. 

This was the first time that Harry had deliberately _sought_ it out to touch though and Draco felt a little ambivalent about his husband’s actions. 

“There’s our baby,” Harry said, his voice low and sweet. He leant over and stroked Draco’s tummy with his palm, the feel of his palm rough and calloused against his own smooth skin. “ _Mmm_. I’ve been thinking about this all day, Draco. Been thinking about you and our baby. It’s almost too much to comprehend. There’re in there, getting big and strong.”

Draco shook his head at Harry’s words, not really sure how to feel. 

Harry was obviously besotted – of _course_ he was, he’d wanted a baby, wanted a family of his own for as long as Draco and he had been in love – and Draco knew that, in in some ways, this pregnancy was hard for Harry. 

He’d admitted to feeling a little like he was on the outside, envious that he couldn’t feel the small fluttery movements that Draco had become so familiar with and wishing that he could get to know their little one a bit better.

“They are,” Draco said, making a hum of agreement. Harry was whispering sweet nothings to their baby, tiny compliments and soft words that were meant for their ears alone. He pressed a kiss to the skin just to the left of his bellybutton and then pulled back. Harry had a bright smile that broke his face almost in two. It was guileless with love and Draco felt his heart twist in his chest despite his fatigue. “But Harry. You must know that there isn’t much actual _baby_ in there yet. They’re only the size of a pear right now. Three little inches.” 

Draco supposed that he hadn’t meant for his words to sound quite as blunt as they did but he was tired and he didn’t have quite the same sentimental feelings towards his tummy that Harry had. 

He wanted the _baby_ growing inside them – already loved them more than life itself – but the pregnancy itself? Draco wasn’t as captivated by the bloated middle, the swollen feet and the way that most of his trousers no longer fitted him. 

His husband only laughed at that, the same hearty chortle that always burst out of Harry when he was enchanted.

“That’s _plenty_ of baby,” Harry replied, his voice fell with emotion. “They were only the size of a grape when we went for our first scan. They’re our little one, love. Our _family_ ,” Harry grinned widely and gave Draco’s middle another kiss, this time on the right hand side of his bellybutton. “Ignore your other Daddy please,” he informed the bump, each word a soft puff of air against Draco’s skin. “He always gets prickly when he’s tired.”

Harry’s delight made Draco feel a little guilty. He looked down at Harry’s entranced face. His husband was stroking protective circular movements over his belly. He hadn’t meant to pour cold water over Harry’s happiness. Draco let his shoulders drop before placing his novel on the coffee table beside Cauldron Cakes. He didn’t think that he’d be reading much more tonight. 

“Harry,” Draco said, making the effort to drop the vexation from his voice, “I _know_ that they’re our little one… The family that we wanted for such a long time.” He let own hand rest on the bump. The skin was silky soft under his palm and he suddenly felt the same shiver of excitement run done his spine that he’d done when they’d taken their pregnancy test all those weeks before. 

Draco supposed that being pregnant wasn’t as bad as all that; he gave his husband a resigned glance. Harry’s enthusiasm was infectious. 

“Such a long time,” Harry echoed. “And soon they’ll be with us.”

“And I'm sorry if I sounded negative. It’s been a long day… So many customers and I couldn’t get a break.” Draco answered. He knitted his fingers though Harry’s and rested them on the swell of his bump. As much as Draco liked to gripe, there _was_ a pear-sized baby growing inside him and that had to be rather magical. “I’m just tired is all.” Draco gave Harry a small smile. “Bloody Christmas. The world and their wife came through my doors today.”

“Don’t say sorry,” Harry said quickly. He looked up at Draco with earnest eyes. “I can come on too strongly, I know that. It’s just that I’m in awe of you… in awe of everything that you’re doing to give us a family. You’re right. It _is_ Christmas. The lights. The music. Everything just _feels_ so different this time of the year. Back when I was a kid, I could only look on enviously. Dudley – my cousin – well, it was all about how many gifts my Uncle and Aunt could fit under the tree for him… And I suppose a part of me thought the rest of my life would be the same. Christmas was always for other people. It wasn’t for the likes of me.”

“Those abominable Muggles,” Draco whispered. Harry didn’t talk about them much; he always refused, saying that he wasn’t that little boy any longer and he never would be again. Occasionally small pieces slipped through from Harry’s consciousness and Draco was always horrified. He was now. He clasped Harry’s hand where it still rested on his skin and held it tight. “You mustn’t think that. You’re, with me-”

Harry clasped Draco’s hand and knotted his fingers thought his own. “I’m here, with you,” Harry said, “I’ve got everything that I ever could have wanted. More than that lonely little boy in the cupboard under the stairs could ever have dreamt he deserved.”

Draco looked down at Harry. His husband’s eyes were red-rimmed and Draco knew that every word that he was saying came from the heart. Harry couldn’t fib. Draco knew that his husband was nearly incapable of it. “I’m the pregnant one,” Draco said in a quiet voice. “ _Allowed_ to be hormonal. You’re supposed to be the big strong one in this marriage, Harry.” 

“I’m not strong when it comes to you,” Harry said. “And I never have been. You’ve always made me vulnerable Draco. You were always my weak spot. Even when we were back at school you were the only one that could get under my skin.” He sniffed and then gave Draco a weak smile. “And now we’re married and you’re pregnant and my world is better than I ever could have imagined it would be. This is our first baby, Draco and it’s the first time that you’ve been pregnant at Christmas. I’m thrilled! This feels like a whole new life for us.”

Draco sat back in the chair. He’d always know that Christmas meant a lot to Harry but he hadn’t ever really understood exactly why. A few of the blank spots in his knowledge about his husband’s early life had been filled in for him tonight. 

His own childhood Christmases, spent at the Manor – although always prim, austere and formal – had still been one of the high spots of his year. Draco also knew that during some years of their education Harry hadn’t even left Hogwarts. He’d stayed back at school, watching as the others Flooed home in a haze of joyful excitement. 

“It _will_ be a whole new life,” Draco replied, “filled with new traditions that we’ll make for ourselves and our family.” He broke off then, an idea forming in his head. Draco supposed that he’d been caught in Harry’s excitement, for all of his tiredness and prickly mood had vanished. “Christmases were very ceremonial when I was a boy,” Draco told Harry, his mind wandering backward with each of his reminisces. He could still see the lavish ice sculptures and the long banquet tables full of food he was forbidden to touch. “Really, they were just a good reason for Father to host lavish parties and gain influence with the cream of wizarding society. Most of my memories involve starchy suits and being seen and not heard. There is one part of my childhood that I’d like to share with our little one, though. Something that has always stayed with me.”

“Anything,” Harry said, his green eyes wide. “If it’s important to you, then it is to me as well.”

Draco nodded. “It was. When I was little, I had an Elf-Nanny. It was the way that families like mine worked. All pure-blood families had them. Of course Mother loved me but she had better things to do than actually raise me. My nanny’s name was Marie and my parents liked her because she spoke French. They thought she’d be a good influence on me… Help me with my language fluency, things like that.” Draco sighed. He’d loved Marie a great deal but he’d never once told her. It just hadn’t been in keeping with the pure-blood code of conduct that he’d been brought up to believe in. “And now I think back I realise that she must have missed her own children a great deal. She used to sing to me, Harry. Every Christmas. I remember that the words sounded like a prayer or some sort of charm?”

“That’s lovely. Sort of like a Christmas Carol? We used to sing those at school, sometimes,” Harry said, listening intently. 

“I think so,” Draco answered. “Mother and Father didn’t like the song, when I tried to sing it to them. They thought it was superstitious Muggle nonsense. Told me that it was below my station. But I did, Harry. I loved that song. That song meant Christmas to me.” Starting off softly, Draco began to sing. “ _Il est né le divin enfant, jouez hautbois, résonnez musettes! Il est né le divin enfant, chantons tous son avènement!_ ”

Draco could set that Harry was listening carefully. 

He pushed Draco’s shirt up and gave his tummy another kiss. That was all the encouragement that he needed to continue. Draco couldn’t believe how many of the words he remembered, all these years later. They seemed to flow from a part of his mind fully formed, from a part of his life that he though had been lost forever. _“Depuis plus de quatre mille ans, nous le promettaient les prophètes, depuis plus de quatre mille ans, nous attendions cet heureux temps.”_

With that, Draco paused. 

This wasn’t the evening that he had imagined when he was working hard at the Apothecary. He’d imagined drinking, wrapping himself in his quilt and letting sleep slowly overcome him, but this? This evening was so much better. Draco hadn’t ever imagined singing for their tiny baby, still only the size of a pear, but very much loved nevertheless. This time year they’d be there with them – a new life for all of them – and everything would be different once again. There was one thing that wouldn’t change though: their home would be filled with happiness. 

Draco carded his fingers through Harry’s hair and though of how wonderful the following year would be. They’d place their little one in their cot, sleeping soundly above their special quilt while Harry and he would sing them their lullaby together. 

Whomever they decided to be, Draco was sure that their baby would have a life filled with love. Harry lowered his head to rest against Draco’s middle as he softly sang the next part of their special Christmas song. _“Ah! Qu'il est beau, qu'il est charmant! Ah! Que ses grâces sont parfaites! Ah! Qu'il est beau, qu'il est charmant! Qu'il est doux ce divin enfant!”_

Draco smiled as he finally lapsed into silence. 

In a few days it would be Christmas Day and Harry and he would be at the Weasleys. They’d eat Molly’s delicious food, tear the paper from their annual hand-knitted jumper and enjoy the hustle and bustle of The Burrow. But here, though, under the twinkling lights of the charmed fairy lights Draco felt transported, wrapped up in the enchantment of the moment and the coil of Harry’s companionable magic dancing his skin. 

This, Draco supposed was what Christmas was really about. 

Christmas was there to be made – and remade – as your life changed around it. Christmas was about making your own traditions and staying close to the people that you loved the very most. Leaning over, Draco pressed a kiss into Harry’s untidy mop of hair. 

“I love you,” Draco whispered. “More than anything. Happy Christmas.”

“Love you more,” Harry replied. “Happy Christmas, Draco and the most exciting New Year that we’ll ever know.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Draco sings is _Il est ne, le divin Enfant,_ which is a traditional 19th century French Christmas Carol.
> 
> Thank you for reading xxxxx


End file.
